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Ayida Shonibar

Old Prints and Fresh Snow

By Fantasy

Reading Time: 4 minutesThe flame dances in front of that last photo, distorting his smile. The corner catches and burns. The curling blackness consumes me first, eating at my unhappy face until I don’t have to look at it anymore. My shoulders relax.

But it keeps going. It takes my brother, too, and our out-of-focus parents hovering in the background. It goes and goes until there’s nothing left to hold.

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